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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221294">Popcorn and Paper Snowflakes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch'>snarkymuch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Christmas Ornaments, Christmas Tree, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:07:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,859</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting a Christmas tree shouldn’t have been emotional, but Bucky found his chest cinching tight and his throat clogging painfully as he watched Steve screw the tree into the base. It wasn’t that it made him sad, exactly, but it felt like he was pressing on an old bruise, a distant ache at the memory of a time when life was less complicated.<br/>or<br/>Bucky and Steve decorate their first tree since the forties.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Popcorn and Paper Snowflakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/helpmeimsad/gifts">helpmeimsad</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for @askin-for-it-back on tumblr as part of the Stucky Secret Santa 2020.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Getting a Christmas tree shouldn’t have been emotional, but Bucky found his chest cinching tight and his throat clogging painfully as he watched Steve screw the tree into the base. It wasn’t that it made him sad, exactly, but it felt like he was pressing on an old bruise, a distant ache at the memory of a time when life was less complicated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky didn’t remember much from his time before Hydra, but he did have a hazy memory of a scraggly tree, sitting in the corner of a sparsely furnished room. He sharply remembered stabbing his finger with a needle as he and Steve threaded popcorn on a string. He recalled the feeling of warmth and comfort as he wrapped Steve in his arms on their ratty couch and looked at their sad little tree, its trunk just as scrawny as Steve’s arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now things were so different, but the ghosts of the past still lingered. He and Steve were living together again, but now their apartment was big and modern, not wanting for anything. The cupboards and fridge were filled with food, opposite of what it’d been in their youth. An expensive nativity scene sat on the shelf beside a little red elf Steve bought as a joke. Apparently, hiding them around your house was a thing for kids these days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tree sat in the corner of the room, just like Bucky remembered it, but this one wasn’t a stick with broken branches. It was lush and full, standing tall, close to the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then there was Steve, no longer the bony little guy who picked fights as often as he breathed. No, now he was over six feet tall and rippling with muscles and just as much righteous anger as ever. That was something that never changed. Steve would always be an unstoppable force, and Bucky would forever be his anchor, keeping him from losing himself to his emotions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tree jiggled, the branches rustling, and then Steve shimmied out from under it, laying on his back and looking up at Bucky. His hair was sticking up every which way, and he had a pine needle on his forehead. His brow wrinkled, and his mouth twitched as he took in Bucky’s expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, already rolling and pushing himself to his feet. He wiped his hands off on his pants and leveled his gaze on Bucky, scrutinizing every inch of expression on Bucky’s face. Steve always had a way to look through him that others didn't. He never missed anything when it came to Bucky. Maybe it was his nature, or perhaps it was just that Steve lived and breathed Bucky like he was the lifeblood in his veins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky tried to erase the frown from his face because, really, he didn’t even know why he was sad. He wasn’t even sure it was sadness that he was feeling. It felt more like a melancholy ache for something out of his reach, or maybe it was right in front of him already, but he was too scared to reach for it. He didn’t know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just different, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is?” Steve asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky stepped forward and picked the pine needle from Steve’s forehead fondly. He shrugged after, motioning to the tree. “Everything about this should be good, but I can’t help but feel—I don’t know what I feel. After everything we’ve been through.” He sighed, walking over to the couch to sit. He plopped down, and Steve followed, sitting beside him, arms on his knees as he leaned into Bucky’s space. That was Steve, always pushing against his barriers, for better or worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You deserve some happiness, Buck. I think we both do. The world’s finally not ending. No one is hunting for our heads. It’s okay to let yourself have this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky looked at the tree, and even though it lacked decorations, it was beautiful, standing in the room like a reminder of a life Bucky didn’t know he deserved. Steve would always argue he deserved the world, but Bucky looked at his hands some days and only saw red, and it wasn’t the red of the deserving. It was the blood of innocents, and Bucky couldn’t help but believe that tainted his soul in a way that could never be changed, no matter how stubborn Steve decided to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess,” he agreed rather than push back against Steve. Because Steve might be an unstoppable force, but Bucky could be an immovable object at times. They made quite the pair, and when they did clash, it tended to be spectacular. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pressed his lips together like he was trying to bite his tongue. Maybe he knew Bucky wouldn’t change how he felt. Bucky flopped back against the cushion and looked out the window. Snow drifted past the glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got pitch all over my hands from the tree. Do we have any rubbing alcohol around still?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky glanced over at Steve’s hands and saw the dirty specks of sap on his skin. He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think so, not like we need it for much, but we probably have vodka, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I forgot Nat left that bottle, might as well give it a try, but before I do, is the tree straight? I don’t want to move it again after I get my hands clean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky looked at the tree, tipping his head back and forth. “Good enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve leaned over and caught Bucky’s chin with his hand, turning his head a little to the side so he could plant a kiss on his lips. It was chaste, but not every kiss needed to be deep. Bucky let himself enjoy the touch, though, and for a moment, he thought maybe Steve was right. Maybe he did deserve this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you, Buck. I’m glad we’re getting to spend Christmas together again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky smirked. “It’s not half bad, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pecked his lips again, and then pushed himself up from the couch, heading for the kitchen, probably to clean his hands and get the ornaments they’d just bought together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was so new, so different. It didn’t feel right, even with the snow coming down. Bucky remembered enough to know they’d never had the money for new ornaments or even gifts. Christmas for them was always about something else. All the money they’d spent and lights they’d bought, Bucky didn’t think it would be as good as the little tree with popcorn he remembered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve came back into the room a minute later with his arms laden with overflowing bags. Lights, bulbs, fancy snowflakes, and icicles, they had it all. Maybe Bucky just needed to get his head on straight and try to enjoy the present. It wouldn’t do any good to live in the past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bags crinkled as Steve dug through them. He grabbed a box of fancy glass bulbs and held them out to Bucky, who sighed but accepted them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Open those. They all need some hooks, though. I know we bought some.” Steve dumped one of the bags out on the chair and picked up a small box with a triumphant noise. “Here they are.” He tossed them at Bucky, bouncing off his chest and landing in his lap next to the box of ornaments. “Get to it, Buck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky rolled his eyes, and with a huff, he tore open the boxes and started threading hooks on the bulbs. “Do you remember that paper angel you made for the tree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s head snapped up from where he was working on his hooks. A mixture of emotions flashed over his face, settling on something hopeful. “You remember that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky shrugged, crimping another hook on a bulb and adding it to the pile on his lap. “I’ve been remembering more, sometimes it doesn’t make sense, but I think—I remember you had this paper angel you made your ma, and I remember popcorn. I think we strung it on our tree.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve smiled, and he laughed softly, ducking his head. “You’d always get so mad at me because I’d eat my weight in it, which still wasn’t that much. Do you remember the tree we had in Germany—before things went to shit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky didn’t want to disappoint Steve, he wanted to remember for him, but the slivers of memory were vapors that disappeared when he tried to touch them. Mouth twitching downward, he shook his head, keeping his eyes on his hands, so he didn’t need to see the hurt on Steve’s face. Bucky was okay with the holes in his memory, he could get by, but he knew how much it bothered Steve, even if he didn’t say it out loud. Bucky could see it in the tight lines of his face whenever Bucky couldn’t remember something special.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard Steve sigh and then say, “Well, it wasn’t much of a tree. It wasn’t a whole lot more than a stick, but you made it into something for us—for the Howlies and me. You stuck it in the snow by the campfire and tied bullet casings to the branches with some thread you had in your kit. We all sat around the fire, trying not to freeze, singing carols. You made it nice for us—for me—you always did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky wasn’t sure if it was his imagination filling in the details or if he was remembering, but for a brief second, he thought he recalled the smell of a fire and the way bullet casing ornaments caught the light. It was gone as quick as it came, though, and it left him with a familiar ache in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the last bulb done, all the hooks on, Bucky’s gathered them in his arms and stood. “You’re right, Stevie. We should make this special.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would do that for Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thanks, Buck. That means a lot you’re willing to try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was the truth. Bucky would always give Steve the world. That was one constant in their life. Bucky would do anything for Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky dumped his armful of ornaments into the chair and then crouched down to look through the bags. He grabbed the boxes of lights and stood. “We should start with the lights, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nodded, putting down his ornaments and taking a box from Bucky, who’d already pried the tape off that was holding them closed. They each pulled their string of lights from the pack. Steve dangled his in front of himself, looking perplexed, making Bucky snort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m no expert, but I think we should start at the top and work down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve stretched his lights out, glancing up at Bucky. “The tree was always your doing, so I’ll follow your lead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together they passed the lights around the tree, plugging the next string into the last when needed until they got to the bottom. They both stood back and studied their work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve looked at him, hands on his hips. “You know, we should probably have tested them first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder into Steve’s. “Move over. The guy with the metal arm will plug them in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve frowned, but Bucky laughed. “Relax, Steve. It was a joke, you know, a thing normal people do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just plug it in, jerk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky shimmied around the tree and plugged in the lights. Immediately the multicolored lights sparkled in the branches. Bucky came back around to the front to stand beside Steve, who was looking at it with a soft expression before he snaked an arm around Bucky’s back, pulling him into his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We never had anything like this, and it’s not even finished,” Steve said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky reached around and slipped his hand into Steve’s back pocket, and they stood there, taking in the twinkling lights and enjoying each other's presence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chewing his lip, Bucky glanced at Steve, who looked at him with his brows knit together in question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you think if I said I didn’t want all those fancy ornaments and shit?” Bucky asked, then looked back at the tree. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard the heavy breath escape from Steve, and the arm around Bucky’s waist tightened, Steve’s fingers digging in just a little over his hip. “If you don’t want this, that’s fine. It was a stupid idea, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky’s head snapped to Steve. “No!” he said a bit too sharply. “No,” he repeated softer this time. “I do want this, but I want—can’t we have it like when we were kids. All the new ornaments—it doesn’t feel right. Maybe because that sad little tree of ours is the only one I remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you saying, Buck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky ducked his head, feeling a little embarrassed. “I just—can we pop some popcorn and thread it on a string, maybe make some paper snowflakes, and an angel like you made your ma. It won’t win any awards, but it’ll—it’ll feel like home,” Bucky chanced a look at him. Steve’s eyes were glossy with tears. “Ah, I didn’t mean to make you cry, punk. Fuck. I can’t do anything right. I just thought—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! No, Bucky. I would love to do that with you. It will be just like old times. I’d like that a lot. I’d love it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky turned, sliding his hand around to hold Steve’s hip, his other grasping Steve’s waist. “Yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft smile brushed over Steve’s lips. His eyes twinkled from the lights of the tree. Steve slid his hand up Bucky’s chest, coming to rest with his large palm pressed against his pulse point, just under his jaw. He stared into Bucky’s eyes for a second, then leaned in and kissed him, nibbling Bucky’s bottom lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky chased his mouth, making Steve chuckle warmly. “I love you, Buck, every part of you. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky wanted to disagree at first. He knew that he would be better without having spent a lifetime killing, but then, had he not, had he died on falling from the train, then he wouldn’t be here now with Steve. For better or worse, the things he’d done had molded him into who he was today, and if he really thought about it, if he was really honest, he didn’t mind who he had become.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know it hasn’t been easy for you,” Steve said after a beat, “but you’re not alone. You couldn’t shake me if you tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky felt a swell of emotion. He stepped closer to Steve and rested his forehead against Steve’s collarbone, stealing a glance at the tree from the corner of his eye. Something about the lights, or Steve’s earnest declaration, or maybe it was just him, having finally reached a point where he couldn’t hold it in anymore, tears welled in his eyes, and for the first time in months, he let them fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s arms snaked around him and squeezed him tightly, like applying pressure to an oozing wound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Bucky melted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clutched at Steve, pulling himself so close they were almost one. The fabric of Steve’s shirt grew damp with tears as Bucky silently cried; every so often, his shoulders would shake. Steve continued to gently rub his hand up and down Bucky’s back, whispering soothing things as he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stayed like that for a few minutes, Bucky just breathing in Steve’s scent, a mixture of his cologne and the soap he used. It was grounding, the way it hadn’t changed. Steve always smelled the same. Bucky wondered if he still used the same cologne he did in the war. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pressed his mouth to Bucky’s hair, just breathing against him, his warm breath tickling his scalp. Despite all the emotions coursing through him, he really was happy. The tears weren’t really an expression of his sadness, more a release of emotion he’d dammed up over the years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sniffling, Bucky turned his head up and kissed the side of Steve’s neck. His skin was warm against his lips. Steve gave him another squeeze and then relaxed his hold, so he could pull back and see Bucky’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Steve breathed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky sucked in a breath, letting it out shakily. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, how about we make some popcorn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky dried his eyes with his sleeve, nodding a few times. “I can find some string.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t talk about Bucky’s meltdown, and that was okay. They didn’t have to. Maybe that was a part of knowing each other so well. They convened in the kitchen a little while later and sat at the table with a large bowl of popcorn between them, feeding the pieces onto the string, and Bucky felt at peace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, they strung it around the tree, and Bucky clipped paper into snowflakes that looked nothing like snow, and Steve made an angel in memory of his ma. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tree turned out to be a hodgepodge of decorations, nothing that would win an award, but to Bucky, it said home, something he and Steve had been trying to find for years.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! I hope you like it :)<br/>You can find me on tumblr <a href="https://snarky-drabbles.tumblr.com/">here</a>. I'm @snarky-drabbles</p></blockquote></div></div>
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